What’s up, Doc?

Okay, I do that often. Disagreeable things seem to be my specialty, and I’m always getting into trouble around here for it. I bring home sheep. I bring home more horses. I bring home chicks. And I also brought home rabbits. Why are rabbits a cause for irritation? Well…Darling is allergic to them, so pet bunnies are out of the question. I brought home a trio of meat rabbits…hey, he can’t argue about food, right? But of course, I don’t want to butcher them…I just want to raise babies and sell them.

City Boy isn’t too fond of my plan. I really haven’t got any place to keep the rabbits except for in the chicken coop. The chicken coop is really the dog kennel, so the dogs have been displaced in favor of chickens, and now the chickens have been kicked out in favor of rabbits. Dogs at least poop out in the woods. Not so with chickens (but we’ve covered that, haven’t we?)

So I decided to do some more rearranging. I set up a new home for my rabbits out in the barn using the panels that the Screamer had lived in. The rabbits wouldn’t be able to fit through the smaller holes that were at the bottom, I surmised, and the feathered pooping machines could all go back into the coop and poop there instead of on my patio.

See? Little holes at the bottom…

My surmising was wrong. Rabbits jump. Rabbits jump up high and fit through holes that are big enough for them to fit through. And so began the great rabbit round up of 2007. I grabbed the big fish net and I began stalking wabbits rabbits around the barnyard. They snuck in and out of tight places, slipped in and out of hay bales, and hid under lawn mowers that were parked for the winter. They were cunning and evil and downright wascally. rascally.

“Here, cute little wabbit,” I called to the bunnies as I crept up close. On tip toes, I drew closer, my net in hand, ready to catch that wabbit. But as I went to scoop, that wabbit wan awound the cowner of the barn and I was left with and empty net.

Darling came home from school and began to say something about my net and tip-toeing, but I stopped her, saying, “Shhhh, be vewy, vewy quiet…I’m hunting wabbits.”

But despite my best efforts, the wabbits rabbits didn’t want to be hunted, and the whole crazy scenario was beginning to take on a familiar feel. I couldn’t quwite put my finger on it, though…

Since the rabbits weren’t cooperating with my round up efforts, I decided they could just hop around until morning.

That was three days ago. Those rabbits were still hopping freely when the woman next door stopped with a crate full of bunny. One down, one to go. Last night her husband knocked on the door to let me know that one of my bunnies was over in his horse pasture. “If we work together, maybe we can catch it before the coyotes come out tonight.” I was hard pressed not to respond, “Well, if Wily Coyote wants that wascally wabbit, he can have him!” But I didn’t. Instead we went wabbit hunting.

One should not underestimate the cunning and craftiness of wabbits. They let you get within inches of them before dashing into the underbrush, leaving you in mid lunge hurtling towards brakens and thorns. And those hurtles are nearly always face first. Wabbits are sneaky that way. After trying to make his way through the thickets on the outside of his horse’s pasture, the neighbor was finally able to frighten the wabbit back into the open. It made it’s way across the field and found a hole that led into the barn, where it scampered out of sight beneath wheel barrows and other odds and ends. I stood at the opening while the neighbor went inside to see if he could scare the wabbit towards me. I called Darling on my cell phone and asked her to bring the net.

I’ve got you now, you Wascally Wabbit!

I already knew my skills with the net were worthless, so I handed it to the neighbor. The wabbit wan past us during the hand off, and my neighbor went lunging, flailing the net wildly over his head. The wabbit zigged and zagged and dashed past me back to the great outdoors and into the horse’s paddock.

My neighbors are having an issue with muck at their place. I knew all too well what was going to happen as soon as we set foot in the muck. Wascally Wabbit probably knew, too. As my foot went down, it sank…and sank…and sank into the muck until I was nearly knee deep. When I pulled my foot up, there was no boot attached. Wabbit just sat there smiling. He then hopped lazily into the horse’s stall where he munched on some hay while the neighbor and I were trying to unmuck ourselves.

My neighbor worked himself free first. Wabbit saw this and hopped towards my side of the stall, not realizing that I, too, was free from the muck. Suddenly, there was terror in his eyes. We were closing in on him! He began to dash towards me, then turned, making a wild attempt to race past the neighbor. The net was flying around the neighbor’s head, horses were were jumping out of his way, wondering what the heck was going on, and then the net swooped down and came up all full of scweaming wascally-ness! Beads of sweat trickling down his nose, he had a look of triumph on his face as he held the net high in victowy! Out of breath, I walked over to take the net and wabbit fwom him. Darling managed to pull my boot out of the muck and bring it to me so that I didn’t have to walk home with one bare foot. Together we walked home with our wabbit in our net. No doubt the cars driving past us were wondering just what the heck was going on.

And that, my friends, ended was the end of wabbit hunting season at Carpenter Creek. Does anyone want to buy a couple of wabbits?

I too have chased wascally wabbits in my time. But not in muck and mud, only in and around the pens at our home place. I usually called for reinforcements, as I am not quick enough to catch anything trying to avoid me. Makes me want to have those wabbits but MY hubby says no (and I don’t go against his wishes – much!).